“There have been others,” Yama admitted.
Andrew waited for additional details, but when the man in blue simply stood there observing the Healer, he decided to take the initiative. “I was told that the Family had a run-in with the Technics once,” he said, and was startled to see the big man’s features harden.
“Yes,” Yama laconically replied, the word almost a hiss.
Andrew opened his mouth, about to question Yama further, when two events occurred simultaneously that completely derailed his train of thought. The Healer, without warning, began to insert the needle into his skin just as a veritable giant strolled into the infirmary.
Chapter Two
“Son of a bitch!” Andrew blurted out, and recoiled from the needle, his wide eyes locked on the new arrival.
The giant stood seven feet in height and possessed a truly herculean build. He wore a black leather vest, green fatigue pants, and combat boots, and his exposed arms, shoulders, and abdomen rippled with layers of bulging muscles. He radiated an almost palpable aura of power and virility. A comma of dark hair hung above his gray eyes. Strapped around his lean waist were a matched pair of Bowie knives. He came directly over to the cot.
Yama had swiveled to face the giant. “Here he is, Blade.”
Blade halted and placed his brawny hands on his Bowies. “What’s your name?” he asked in a husky voice.
“Andrew, sir.”
“Your whole name?”
“Andrew Wolski, sir,” Andrew said, awed by the head Warrior’s intimidating presence. He’d seen some large men in his time, and had deemed Yama to be one of the largest, but this titan made all the others seem like midgets, and even surpassed the man in blue.
“Call me Blade,” the giant said.
“Yes, sir.”
“And stop calling me sir.”
“Whatever you say. Anything you want, you get.”
“How accommodating of you, Andrew,” stated a gray-haired man who stepped from behind Blade, smiling pleasantly. “I’m Plato, the Family Leader.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Andrew said, noting the kindly, weathered visage on the man who might well determine the fate of his wife and daughter. The Leader wore a green shirt and faded corduroy pants, and sported a full gray beard to complement his shoulder-length hair. “I must talk to you right away.”
“Certainly,” Plato said.
“I’d like to stitch this wolf bite first,” Nightingale interjected.
“In a minute,” Blade told her, studying the thin man from head to toe.
“Is he packing?” he asked.
“Just the rifle,” Yama answered.
Blade nodded, his gray eyes boring into Wolski. “Who sent you?”
“What?”
“Who sent you here?”
Andrew blinked a few times, disturbed by the edge of the giant’s tone.
“Nobody. I came here on my own. I’ve been looking for the Home for weeks.”
“Where are you from?”
“I live on a small farm west of Green Bay, Wisconsin.”
“Then you claim you’re a farmer?”
Andrew straightened, his eyes narrowing. “I am a farmer,” he asserted indignantly. “What else would I be?”
“An assassin,” Blade said.
“A what?” Andrew declared in disbelief.
“An assassin. The Family has made a number of enemies, any one of whom would go to great lengths to kill Plato and myself,” Blade stated.
“You might be an assassin sent here to eliminate us.”
“But I’m not,” Andrew protested vigorously.
“Prove it,” Blade told him, his right hand sweeping up and out, drawing his right Bowie. He lanced the knife at the thin man’s neck.
Fear flooded through Andrew. He saw the glistening tip coming at his throat and he frantically tried to throw himself to the left. Dizziness assailed him as all the blood seemed to abruptly drain from his face. His frayed emotional state, his weariness and hunger all conspired to produce an unexpected effect. He fainted, sinking onto his side on the cot.
Several seconds of silence elapsed.
“I guess he isn’t a professional assassin,” Yama remarked and laughed.
“That was cruel,” Nightingale said. “You scared the poor man half to death.”
“I agree,” Plato concurred. He glanced at Blade. “Was such a barbaric act necessary?”
“We needed to be sure,” the head Warrior responded. “I can’t take any chances where your life is concerned.” He slowly sheathed the Bowie and looked at Nightingale. “Stitch him up while he’s unconscious. I want to be informed the minute he wakes up.”
“Will do,” she promised.
Plato turned to Yama. “Did he give you any clue as to his reason for seeking us out?”
“He wanted to talk to someone in authority,” Yama related, and his countenance clouded. “He mentioned the Technics.”
“He did, did he?” Blade remarked thoughtfully. “I’ll post a guard to stay here until he revives.”
“I’d like to volunteer,” Yama offered.
“Isn’t this your day off?”
“I don’t mind.”
Blade absently stroked his chin. “I thought you were busy with target practice.”
“The firing range can wait. I want to keep an eye on our visitor,” Yama said.
“Suit yourself. Bring him outside after Nightingale is finished,” Blade ordered. He turned and walked to the doorway.
Plato trailing behind him. They sauntered toward the moat.
“Yama has developed an inordinate interest in Andrew Wolski,” Plato remarked when they were ten yards from C Block. “He must suspect that the Technics are somehow involved with Mister Wolski.”
“Or Yama hopes they are,” Blade amended. “If I read Wolski correctly, he’s here to ask our help. Yama must believe the same thing, and I gather he’s hoping the Technics are the culprits. He wants a chance to get his revenge.”
“I’ve always considered Yama to be one of the finest Warriors. He exhibits superb self-control. I should think he had gotten over her by now,” Plato said.
“How do you get over the death of a loved one?”
The Family Leader clasped his bony hands behind his back and sighed.
“I see your point. What will you do?”
“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it,” Blade said. He gazed at the azure sky, then at the rampart on the west wall where Ares stood with a Colt AR-15 slung over his left shoulder. “We have something else to discuss.”
“The replacement for Marcus?”
“Exactly. I’ve selected a candidate to formally sponsor before the Elders.”
Plato glanced at his companion fondly, remembering the day, years ago, when Blade’s father had been slain by a mutate and Plato had decided to take the youth under his wing. He viewed the giant as the son he’d never had, and he had appointed Blade as the chief Warrior after assuming the post of Leader. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to nominating someone. Several of the other Elders have commented on the delay.”
“I’ve delayed choosing a candidate because I wanted to carefully evaluate those who are qualified for the post. After what happened to Marcus, I want to make the right choice.”
“Marcus died because he was inexperienced. No matter who you pick now, they’ll be equally as inexperienced,” Plato said.
“True. But I’m hoping to select a candidate who will be more decisive than Marcus, someone who can think fast under stress,” Blade stated, and paused. “I know several of the Warriors have sponsored their own favorite candidates.”
“Yes, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi is sponsoring Norris. Spartacus has nominated Jason. And Sundance is sponsoring Mather.”
“You’re kidding.”
Plato chuckled. “I wish I was. None of the Elders view Mather as a serious candidate. He’s too unstable. But what about you? The person you sponsor will be the heavy favorite. Your recommendation carries a lot of weight with the Elders.”